


Traded

by tismabel



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Baseball, F/M, Trades
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tismabel/pseuds/tismabel
Summary: Mike gets traded to the American League and this how they deal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *handwaves no-trade clause I'm sure Mike would have in his contract*

The last time he talked to her it had been over the phone and they’d ended up yelling at each other.

The next communication was half a dozen text messages from her, mainly along the lines of ANSWER YOUR PHONE spelled out in block capitals.

Mike’s been watching a lot of video footage of his new division. Sipping on craft beer while he studies the mechanics of his future opponents. The American League East is like a yawning black maw waiting to chew him up and maybe he’s too old to adapt. Imagines all those new pitchers winding-up like kabuki dancers, asymmetrical and impossible to predict. He dreams about standing at the plate in New York, naked without rhythm or sense.

He stays up real late and wonders if he’s losing his grip on reality, thoughts fractured and unbound, his hands shaking all the time. Think’s that might be good, he can work with that. Maybe if he completely loses it they won’t make him go.

 

**

Blip calls from Arizona needing Ginny’s address for Christmas cards. He launches into a long story about software virus corruption and Evelyn’s iCloud account and Mike only understands about half of it.

He’s going to miss how totally dependent on other people Blip still is. Remembers the panic five minutes before a game and how he’d come hopping over to Mike’s locker, left sock missing and innocent desperation in his eyes.

Blip’s still talking, “‘cause you know next year she’ll be out there on her own and she needs your support.” and Mike can’t follow that logic at all. He takes another swallow of beer and types in B - A - K, and sees the smiling selfie Ginny programmed into his contacts list.

 

**

It hadn’t been that long after the announcement but Mike felt like a rat in a cage, needed to escape from San Diego. He probably should have stuck around for farewells to the team he’d called home for a good part of his adult life. Instead he’d driven north to L.A. and two weeks later he’s watching the play-off’s from his couch.

He can’t sleep for days. That’s nothing new, but when he finally manages to drift off he wakes up later with his legs twisted in his sheets and sense memory on his lips. He chases codeine with coffee and wonders how many weeks until spring training.

On the thirteenth day he shaves his beard. When the buzzing of the electric razor stops vibrating in his ears a strangers’ hollow eyes stare back at him. Mike Lawson doesn’t live here anymore. He’s been traded into another life.

 

**

Mike let’s out a sigh when he sees her through the glass front door. She brushes past when he opens it and heads straight to the living room. Two weeks, and he know’s their fight’s hasn’t quite built up to it’s full head of steam. Mike thinks you need time to establish the appropriate tension.

She immediately parks herself on the couch and starts drinking his beer. Flipping through the channels, she asks “You got UberEats?”.

Mike would prefer to get the big dramatic confrontation out of the way first, but he’s hungry, and so they eat dinner together on the couch and watch the Cubs crush Cleveland.

During the seventh inning stretch Ginny puts her hand on Mike’s knee and lick’s Mike’s neck. She’s twists over towards him, her lips cold from the beer. Mike kisses her quick and desperate, grabs her leg and pulls it across his, knocking the coffee table, clatter of empty bottles falling on the floor.

Mike’s got Ginny pushed down on the couch, one hand still hooked under her knee, the other tugging her shirt buttons open. They fuck gracelessly like teenagers, her shirt hanging open and Mike’s sweats pulled down to his knees. She has her eyes squeezed tightly in concentration as she comes, fingernails digging into his shoulders. A hiss of air through his teeth and he follows quickly behind, rutting and almost slipping off the couch.

 

**

Afterwards, Mike talks quietly into her neck, “If that’s what you came up here for I mighta answered my phone a week ago.” He tries to joke but can’t see if she’s smiling.

“Don’t know why I came. Just. Seemed like the thing to do.”

“You like fighting better in person,” Mike says casually and she’s rubbing her fingers compulsively under his chin where his beard used to be.

“That’s true, I do.” Ginny is lying on one of Mike’s arms; his other hand is twisting a strand of her hair.

“I don’t want you to go,” Mike can hear the hitch in her throat.

“Yeah, well...” And they’re both aware there’s not much else to say.

So Ginny winds her arm more tightly around Mike and on the television the fireworks are going off in Chicago and Tom Verducci is already talking about spring training.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I seem to be incapable of writing a happy ending. Except for the Cubbie's winning the World Series, that is.


End file.
